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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581929">Boy, You're Gonna Set Me On Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles'>ImagineBeatles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Smut Haven (McLennon) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Burn play, Cigarettes, Crying, Dom/sub, Excessive use of pet names, Face Slapping, Human Furniture, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Objectification, Orgasm Control, Pain Kink, Paul is the perfect mix of sweet and cruel, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Top Paul, it's all very consensual, john's a terrible painslut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For months, John has been begging Paul to burn him with one of his cigarettes and now finally Paul has agreed to do it. John can hardly wait...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Smut Haven (McLennon) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Boy, You're Gonna Set Me On Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I got a request on Tumblr from someone who asked if I would ever be willing to write anything where Paul could give John consensual cigarette burns. Luckily, I already had something planned along those lines and now here it is. </p><p>Anon, I hope you'll like this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The rough carpeting hurt John's knees as he sat kneeling on the floor. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there. An hour? Maybe less? Maybe more? Time had become a strange concept that had lost all meaning in the private comfort for Paul’s living room. All John could focus on was the steady rhythm of Paul’s breathing, in… out… in… out… and the occasional flipping of a page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul was sitting in a leather armchair, reading a book and drinking scotch, his long legs crossed at the ankles as his heels dug into John’s back. The curtains were drawn and a record that Paul had put on was playing in the background. It was something classical that John recognised but wasn’t very familiar with, making it difficult to guess how much time had passed since then. What he did know was that the pressure of Paul’s feet on his back was growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute and John had to physically restrain himself from shifting his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul would not appreciate him moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John wished Paul had given him a pillow for his back or his knees. Or even better, both. But he was also grateful that he hadn’t. After all, it was the pain he was after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn't see Paul. The man had slid a silk blindfold over his eyes when they had started this. Good boys didn't need to see, he had explained, and John supposed it was true. There was no need for him to see, certainly not when all Paul expected of him was to be the perfect footstool. John didn't know exactly what Paul had in mind for him later, but he very much doubted that it would require him to use his eyes then either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that didn't mean it wouldn't have been nice. In general John liked to watch his lover no matter what they were doing. To study his eyes and catch the changing colours. To take in all the different shapes his lips formed when he spoke. Or the way his cheeks rounded when he smiled or got excited. Or the look of concentration that appeared on his pretty face when he worked. He liked it during sex too, to see the evidence of his pleasure on his face and body, knowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the cause of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were doing something like this, that pleasure of watching Paul became only more intense. John liked to see the calm, collected strength that radiated from his partner, the power, the seeming indifference, the dark glee in his eyes or the sly curl of his lips. He liked to watch Paul when he was like that; powerful and dominant, selfish and in charge, able to command John's entire being with a flick of his wrist. Paul looked beautiful like that. John wanted nothing but to stare and be his plaything, to be hurt and claimed and made use of however Paul liked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now that had been made impossible. Paul did not like to have John's eyes on him when he was trying to read. He said it was distracting. And so John's pleasure had to give way to Paul’s comfort. It was frustrating how much that alone turned John on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Paul was able to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> John was naked. At Paul's orders, naturally, because if good boys did not need to see, they certainly did not need any clothes. John could feel the way his lover's eyes took him in occasionally, his gaze dancing over his skin, while John could do nothing but let him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another page was turned and Paul's body shifted. The heel of his foot rolled over John's back and dug uncomfortably into a muscle, holding for a second before settling down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John did not make a sound. He enjoyed the discomfort, leaned into it, and his half hard cock gave a little twitch where it hung between his legs, hopeful for attention. His heart pounded as he waited for Paul to say something. The silence, however, persisted, and John forced his body to relax as Paul simply continued his reading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Paul sighed and John piqued his ears, holding his breath. There was some shuffling and John could hear the sound of more scotch being poured, the bottle lightly clinking against the glass. Then, he heard the thud of the bottle being put down, followed by the metal scrape of the cap being screwed on again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But just as John had thought that was it, that Paul had settled back to pick up his reading again, he heard the familiar sound of a cigarette pack being opened, followed by a match being struck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed some saliva that had formed in his mouth and held still as he waited, listening closely to the sound of Paul smoking his cigarette: the crackling of the smouldering paper, the gentle inhale and the grateful release of smoke into the air. John could smell it too, the burning tobacco, sweet and familiar, smelling so much like Paul. He couldn't help but squirm at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"John, darling?" Paul's voice came, low and heavy in a lazy drawl, and John's cock gave another twitch. "Don't move."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, sir,” he said, obediently, and felt the colour rise on his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul smoked quietly and John waited. He knew what was coming and he knew that Paul knew that he knew. He also knew that Paul was drawing it out, building the anticipation, letting the fear and desire build up within John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, John wished he could see him, wished he could watch Paul smoke rather than picture it and look him directly in the eye as he did. He wished for Paul to see his desire, the heat that burned in John's eyes, like a reflection of the glowing end of his cigarette. Maybe it would make him get on with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s cock was quickly growing into full hardness. He could feel it between his legs, throbbing with desire and bobbing at the blood that pulsed through it. It should have been embarrassing what the mere anticipation of the inevitable pain could do to him. But it wasn't. Not when he was with Paul. He had been asking for this for too long to be embarrassed about his eagerness now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul knew he wanted it. And Paul was going to give it to him today. His mark. Something more permanent than the cuts and bruises his pale skin was already littered with. Finally Paul was going to give it to him. All John had to do was wait and do as Paul told him to show him he deserved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Paul lifted his feet and swung them over John to place them on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sit up." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The order was spoken so nonchalantly that John almost missed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C'mon, c'mon. Sit up. On your knees. Turn to me. C'mon!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The palms of John's hands burned as he lifted them from the carpeting. They were sensitive and felt coarse as John ran his fingers over them, but he largely ignored it as he moved into a more upright kneeling position. His body complained at the movement, the muscles having grown stiff, but he pushed on regardless, enjoying the uncomfortable pull in his back, arms, shoulders and legs as he reached out with his hands, trying to find Paul's legs so he could situate himself between them. The smell of cigarette smoke grew more intense and John let out a soft hum as Paul reached out to stroke his fingers through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a good boy," the man crooned once John had settled into the new position. His voice was much closer than John had anticipated, and he could hear Paul take another drag from his cigarette. John took in a sharp breath in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul's hand, meanwhile, had slid out of his hair and was drifting down his neck, calloused fingers sliding over his skin, feeling around, and drifting lower to John's chest and arms. He paused at each little mark he passed on the way. There were many, each one unique in its own way, and with each mark Paul touched, John was transported back to the moment his lover had left it there. The more recent ones still hurt when Paul’s fingers brushed it, but John swallowed all the little whines that dared to escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shuffled closer and took another drag from his smoke. Some of the ash fell from the tip and landed on John’s naked thighs. It was a prickling sensation, not quite burning in the way John truly needed, but hinting at it, making him yearn all the more for what was to come. He took in a stuttering breath, fighting the urge to speak without permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where?" Paul asked, exhaling as he spoke, and John had to swallow before he could answer. The smell of cigarette smoke made him dizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wherever you want," he said, but Paul tutted as his middle finger drew circles over the most recent mark he had made on the inside of John's arm. It was a nasty bruise and John tried not to wince as Paul pressed down on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. I want you to decide. Where do you want it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question curled around him like cigarette smoke and for a moment John could not speak, suffocated as he was. It wasn't often that Paul let him decide and John was unsure how to handle that amount of freedom, the freedom to choose, to have Paul give him exactly what he wanted, where he wanted. There were too many options, too many versions of this particular fantasy that had played itself out multiple times in his head even before he had first dared to bring it up. He just wanted to feel it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where do you want it, Johnny?" Paul asked again, his voice more demanding, almost paternal, and John went with whatever popped up in his head first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Chest." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where? Here?" Paul pressed a single finger to the top of John's left breast, but John shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lower. Near the side." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul didn't speak. He simply pressed his finger to the patch of unmarked skin John had specified and when John nodded, he removed it again. He took another small drag, taking his time to blow out the smoke and John's breathing quickened in anticipation. He hated not being able to see, not being able to know when Paul was going to mark him, not being able to do anything but wait and wait and wait and wait and wait until finally— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ahh! Ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!"</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Even though he had expected it, the pain still took him by surprise. It was awful enough at first, but quickly became excruciating as his body caught on to what was happening to it, and John felt tears gather behind his eyes and roll down his cheeks as Paul burned his skin with the end of his cigarette. It was a white hot pain, the fire scalding his skin, and John's fingers clawed at Paul's knees, blunt nails trying to dig into the flesh despite the thick layer of cloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held on tightly as he endured the pain and let it spread through him. His body trembled with it, jerking and trying to move away, but John fought against the impulse and cried out as Paul pressed down a little harder, holding the burning end of the cigarette firmly against John’s skin until it had gone out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was simultaneously worse and better than John had thought it would be. His brain did not quite seem to know how to process the pain, and when he felt Paul’s other hand coming up to cradle his head, John leaned into the touch, grateful as he only cried harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shh, that's it, darling. It's okay. Let it all out. You did so well… Oh look at that… It’s such a pretty mark, John. It’s gonna scar so nicely,” Paul whispered as he removed the cigarette bud from John’s skin and discarded it into the ashtray next to the bottle of scotch. "You look so pretty." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John whimpered at Paul's words, his voice soothing and kind and loving, yet with that underlying dominance and cruelty that John loved and ached for. A sense of pride filled his chest and he tried to move closer to the other man, seeking out his warmth as Paul responded by caressing John’s cheek with his thumb. The gesture was so gentle in comparison to the pain on his chest that it only made more tears well up in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cock, meanwhile, was throbbing. It stood upright, hard and leaking, and when Paul reached down to take him into his hand, John let out a strangled noise, his brain struggling to make sense of the conflicting sensations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” he moaned, but Paul shushed him, leaning in to kiss away his tears that were rolling down from under the blindfold. He began to stroke him, his grip loose and relaxed, and John let out another choked grunt, his cock twitching in Paul's hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, darling. I know…” Paul whispered, lips trailing John's cheeks. “You did so good for me. My dear boy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s words lit up his skin and made the pleasure more intense as it mixed with the pain of the burn. He was still crying, adding more tears that Paul licked away, and somehow John couldn’t stop. But it was the pleasure he ached for the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” he tried again, hands clutching more tightly at Paul's knees, but again the man shushed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mere,” he said, pulling back to undo his own trousers and take out his own cock instead, ignoring the whimper John let out at the loss of contact, “let me use your sweet mouth for a moment. You always get me so hard when you look like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand that was still holding John’s head, tightened its hold, and obediently, John followed Paul’s movements, letting Paul guide him to his cock and taking it into his mouth without hesitation. Paul groaned at the feeling, low and guttural, and dragged his fingers through John’s hair in appreciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's it. Come on, suck me. Oh, good boy… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck..." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>John shivered at the praise, and shuffled closer, eager to please the man whose marks he carried around on his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was more tricky than usual, the pain and the tears making it difficult to breathe through his nose and open his throat, but John tried his best, tightening his lips around the shaft and taking Paul as deep as he could as he moved up and down. When Paul gave an experimental thrust upwards, John gagged but held still, determined not to disappoint. Paul, however, either did not seem to notice or care and just repeated the action as he tightened his hold on John's head to keep him in place, rendering John unable to do anything but sit there and take it as spit and tears drizzled from his face and onto Paul’s trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's it, Johnny. Come on, just a little deeper. I know you can take it. You always do. My perfect little cocksucker. Mmm, God… if only you could see yourself..." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a hand lifting up his chin, and John angled his face up to offer Paul a better view, causing the man to curse again at his ruined state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hadn't expected the slap that followed and he moaned as the palm of Paul's hand collided with his cheek. It stung and his cock twitched for attention. He wanted more, wanted Paul to slap him again, harder, but wasn't sure how to ask for it, and so he did all he could do, which was to suck a little harder. Thankfully, Paul caught on regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Slut," he muttered, amused as he hit John again. There was a fondness in his voice, and John's body thrummed with it, desperate for more. He moaned again, and when Paul pushed his cock all the way down, John simply took it, not caring about the spit that drizzled down his chin as he choked. He fell in love with Paul a little bit more as he was hit again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for Paul to come. With a few deep lazy thrusts, he held himself as deep within John's throat as he could manage and he groaned at the feeling of John's throat muscles working around him as he gagged. His fingers tugged at John's hair before he came, shooting his come straight down John's throat as he held him still, forcing John to swallow it all. He roughly pulled out, leaving John to fall back on the floor as he coughed and heaved, trying to catch his breath. His throat felt raw, well-used and ruined, and John doubted he would be able to speak if Paul asked him to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he moved back up, his body shaking at the effort as he took back his previous position between Paul’s legs. He could hear the man catching his breath, and the leather of the chair creaked as Paul sat back in his seat, leaving John to whine needily as his cock begged for attention, desperate for Paul to reward him for his good behaviour. Paul, however, seemed content to simply relish in the aftermath of his own orgasm and refused to acknowledge the man at his feet even as John began tugging at his trouser leg. He felt like a child begging for attention, but John couldn't take any more waiting. He had been waiting for over an hour at least, hard and naked and ready, and if Paul made him wait any longer John was certain he'd go insane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out another whine and tugged again, harder this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul, however, did not seem to care. John could hear him chuckling at him in response, sounding pleased and relaxed after his orgasm, and John’s heart leapt up at the reaction, but only silence followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” he tried again, his throat making his voice sound worse than he feared and he whimpered as he moved closer, his hands moving to caress the other man’s thighs in the hope to gain his interest again. The “please”’ was right there on his lips. He was so hard, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>beg if Paul pushed him, no matter how embarrassed he’d be about it later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd, how somehow carrying Paul’s marks around was easier than to beg. How having Paul use him as an astray and burn him with his cigarette was easier than to beg him for the release he so desperately craved. How after all this John would still hesitate to say that one word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Paul did not push him, but simply looked down at him, a smirk on his lips that sounded through into the tone of his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you that desperate, love?” he asked, and John let out a whine as he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” he said again, licking his lips as his voice almost broke at the attempt. “Paul…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. You can use my leg to get off if you need it that badly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sat up in his seat and leaned closer to take off the blindfold. He undid the knot behind John’s head before pulling the fabric away and sitting back in his chair again. John closed his eyes in preparation, but was glad to find all the lights in the room to have been dimmed. It provided the room in a soft gentle glow that was easy on John’s eyes. Still, it took a moment before his eyes focused and he was able to make out his surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw Paul first, the silk blindfold between his fingers, and the man regarded him with a cheeky smile as he sat back and waited. He looked elegant as he sat there, powerful but pleased. Pleased with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“C'mon then,” he said, his smile widening and John swallowed as he glanced down at Paul’s legs. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Paul, Paul’s hands or his mouth, or anything as long as it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Paul</span>
  </em>
  <span> touching </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, caressing him, kissing him. He wanted Paul to look after him, to show him his love. Not to rub against his leg like a dog, like something discarded that Paul was done with and had no further use for! But John wasn’t sure if Paul would give him what he wanted if he talked back. John was the one wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>mark, after all. Not the other way around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Embarrassment rising to his cheeks, John approached, climbing his lover’s left leg and pressing his hypersensitive cock against the clothed shin. He let out a shaky breath at the feeling, the contact making John rut forward without meaning to, and Paul let out a chuckle at the sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on…” he said, his voice dark, raising a hand to bite a nail in anticipation. John glanced up at Paul one last time before he complied, thrusting his cock up and down the other man’s leg as his eyes fell closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John could sense Paul watching him. Like before, he could feel his eyes on him, hot and penetrating, and it made the pleasure John got from rubbing off against his leg all the more intense. It was an awkward and uncomfortable position. It never quite gave John the stimulation he craved, but always enough to make him want more and more, causing him to rut harder and faster as he chased the feeling he truly desired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rough scratch of Paul’s slacks was almost painful against his hypersensitive cock, and John could quickly feel a wet patch start to form where the head of his cock rubbed back and forth as precum leaked onto the expensive fabric. It eased the slide and made the feeling less uncomfortable, and John whined in frustration as he tried to move even closer, anything to get more friction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna come for me, Johnny?” Paul asked from where he was still watching, and John once more opened his eyes to look at him, his lips falling open as he panted. He didn’t stop his movements, and when Paul chuckled at him, it only made John harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really are a slut, rubbing against my leg like that. You’d really just take anything I’d give you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, and John nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, gasping his answer as he sped up his movements. He could feel his orgasm drawing close, his stomach pulling tight while his knees complained at the harshness of the floor. “Yes, anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scoffed at the answer, disdain dripping from his voice, and the humiliation only made John love it more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open. Paul, however, tutted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do better than that, can’t you, Johnny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please… Please, sir,” John said, mumbling it without thinking and only realising he had said it once it had already left his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw Paul staring down at him, clearly equally surprised at the ease with which he had said it. John could see him swallow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a simple nod, he gave his permission and John almost came the second he did, letting his head hang low between his shoulders as he sped up his movements, rutting faster and faster until finally he came with a sob. He squirted his come all over Paul’s leg, leaving a couple of thick white stripes on the black material. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment John had come, Paul was up, reaching forward to wrap his arms around the other man and pull him against him as his lips peppered kisses on his cheeks and temples. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good boy, Johnny. You did so well for me. C'mere," Paul mumbled against his skin, whispering praises as he brought John against his chest and helped him down onto the floor. John easily gave into the affection, his body relaxing into the other’s touch as the exhaustion his orgasm left him with took over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did so well, John. So perfect. Are you okay?” Paul asked and John nodded, smiling at the praise Paul was drowning him in, giving him the love he had needed. It always surprised him how quickly Paul's demeanor could change, but it was exactly what he needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he said, his voice as weak as the rest of him, but in that moment John did not care about how weak or vulnerable he seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burn mark on his chest still throbbed and that made it worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s hands cupped his face, holding him gently as he kissed his cheek and finally his mouth. His lips were warm and soft and John leaned into it, wishing he could crawl into that softness, but he supposed this would have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul's fingers, meanwhile, trailed over John’s skin, carefully moving down, until they reached the nasty burn mark a few inches below John’s nipple. He was careful not to touch it, drawing light soothing circles on the skin around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How does it feel?" Paul asked as he broke the kiss, pulling away to inspect the mark. He frowned at the sight of it and John let out a hiss as he lightly touched it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's fine. As long as you don't touch it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'S okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed as Paul removed his hand, and squirmed a little at the prickling pain he was left with. Paul was still looking at it, a deep frown on his forehead that John wished he could kiss away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll be fine, Paul," he said, but Paul didn't listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We're gonna have to clean it. Get the ash out before it gets infected. Think you can walk?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've had an orgasm, Paul. Not a heart attack," John croaked with a roll of his eyes. Still, he did not complain when Paul helped him up and continued to hold onto him to support his weight as he helped him stay on his feet. It was difficult. His body was exhausted and his knees and legs in particular hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was grateful as Paul continued to hold him as he guided him out of the living room and towards the upstairs bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know, it's gonna be ugly regardless," John said as he and Paul slowly made their way up the large wooden staircase, John's hand gripping the railing as the other held onto Paul. He could see Paul glance at the burn from the corner of his eye, before he shrugged, trying to play it off casually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can do what I can," he replied simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed on, helping John up the final stairs and over the landing. The bathroom felt far away and John wished he could just collapse on a bed and sleep for a while as his body recovered. But he knew Paul would not let him until he had looked after the wound he had created. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll clean it and cool it and put a bandage on it and see where it leads," Paul continued as he opened the bathroom door and guided John inside. "We'll make it as pretty as we can." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wasting your efforts, Macca,” John said, but smiled nonetheless as Paul eased him onto the edge of the bath, letting him sit as he busied about, trying to gather everything he could need. It felt strange to be loved like that, to have someone who always tried his best for him and insisted he would look after him no matter what. Who always saw the beauty in him and wanted to preserve that, scars and all. It was something John wasn't sure he would ever get used to. And he wasn't sure he ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get used to it either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John didn’t interrupt as Paul knelt down in front of him, mirroring the scene downstairs, and placed the bandages, disinfectant and some other things on the floor next to him. Silently, he got to work and John simply watched, taking the opportunity now that he wasn't blindfolded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes travelled over his lover's features, the length of his lashes, the light roundness of his cheeks, the fine curves of his pink petal lips. He looked concentrated but relaxed, his features tensing up only when he lightly pressed some disinfectant on the wound, making John hiss at the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," he said, but John shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's fine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just once more…" he said and he looked up at John as the older man let out another choked hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're almost done now," Paul reassured him and John again nodded, feeling like he should do or say something more, but not knowing what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the first time Paul had done this for him, and John was transported back to the many times they had sat like this as teens, awkward and shy at the intimacy of it. They had been aware of their feelings then too, but had been too scared to do anything about it. Just once, John had been about to kiss Paul as the younger boy had looked over a bloodied eye. They had both been a little tipsy, and John knew now Paul had felt it too then. He had chickened out at the last moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at the memories and when Paul finished binding his chest, John reached out, cupping his lover's face and bringing him to him for a kiss, glad for how far they had come. Paul giggled at the sudden affection before kissing back. His hands first found John's before they slid down to his shoulders, using them for support as he climbed into the other man's lap, his legs on either side of John’s hips as he placed his feet into the bathtub for support. John's arms wrapped around his waist to hold him in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Happy, are you?" Paul asked as he pulled back for a moment, one of his hands running through the long locks of auburn as he looked down at John, who could only smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanted to thank you," he explained and Paul chuckled at the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For burning you or playing nurse?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged, his eyes drifting over Paul as he held him more tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For everything." </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please let me know what you thought, and thank you chut, for reading this through for me. </p><p>Also, as a disclaimer, I'm not actually officially taking requests. This was just a very happy coincidence.</p><p>Title comes from Elvis's Burning Love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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